Everyone Beats Bartholomew

Bartholomew is a terrible student

Wednesday

Bartholomew is awakened by his miserable bunny, Roberto, running amuck in its surroundings, chewing and clawing at its shameful excuse of a cage, trying its best to escape. Bartholomew felt the anger pulse inside of him after being awakened from his deep slumber, before realizing that he woke up right on time; 20 minutes after his alarm went off. Feeling his instincts settle and a toothy grin paint itself on his round ahhh face, he releases himself from the coils of cords, devices, and animal feces that are known as his comforter. He never cleaned his room, being the delusional specimen that he is and breathes as. He thought that everything was clean enough as it was. But he was wrong. His room not only looked disgusting, with balloons from parties years ago scattered across the floor, Roberto's shit squished into the crevices of the tiles, and articles upon articles of dirty clothing, but it also smelled disgusting. Serving Bartholomew no use was his dabbing unicorn laundry basket, the uselessness due to his leaving his clothes strewn about his floor instead of in said basket. He swore that it was Roberto's fault for his laundry basket consistently smelling of rancid piss, but really, it was just his clothes that he peed in that would later give him a distasteful rash along his legs. The piss also had a complementary smell of a nursing home kind of sadness, given that Bartholomew is a sad being through and through and it even goes to show in his waste, and the way that his room was always super dark was not helping. He refused to turn his lights on and supposed that the dim light from the sun behind his closed curtains sufficed. But as he is about everything, he was wrong.

Ever since Bartholomew woke up for his first day of school, he could not recall anything of his life whatsoever. He can tell you this off the top of his head; yesterday, he woke up from his dream, felt incredibly strange, but could never remember the dream he had or anything that ever took place before it. It felt like a haze of the past, a missing piece from his frankly unappealing and jagged puzzle. But he need not fear, because regardless of his lack of memory, he will hold no fear anyway. You cannot fear what you don't care for, and he doesn't care about anything. But his lack of care will come back to haunt him when he realizes how important that dream and everything before it truly was.

Anyway, Bartholomew strains as he pulls himself out of bed, immediately taking notice to the convection of his bottom lip which had tied a knot around his rib cage tautly. Most people would probably be mortified by the immense size of one of their limbs, but he simply sighed at the daily occurrence and proceeded to pull the knot apart. Even as he dealt with this at least on a weekly basis, he still could barely untie it himself due to its weight laden on his jaw. His bottom lip was about half of what displayed the weight of Bartholomew on a scale, at least, from what he remembers. He can never recall visiting the doctor because of how little his mother cares about his health, but somehow being a doctor herself. None of Bartholomew's life makes any sense. After untying the hefty beanbag of fat from his waist, he lazily meandered to his closet and grabbed his everyday outfit, his grippy sweatpant jeans, and his black, dirty, bleach-stained hoodie. He followed his routine to a T; He did not brush his teeth or hair. He did not apply deodorant or any perfume for that matter. Just changed and left.

After changing rather slower than the average student, Bartholomew was now sitting down at his tiny dining room table with five seats, three of them vacant. They had plenty of chairs at the table but only 2 people in their family. Contrary to some belief, Bartholomew's stupidity is not completely self-acclaimed, it's also genetic. His mother waited until after her husband died to buy a humongous house that was well over $1,000,000 for only 3 people; her, Bartholomew, and his sister who was now in college. It had about 5 bedrooms, all with queen/king-sized beds, and too many bathrooms to count. She clearly has too much money to spend, however, it seemed as though it was never enough to make Bartholomew a proper meal. Sitting in front of the malnourished boy was a tiny plate of half of a purple crusty grape, 2 blades of grass from their backyard, and a mere crumb of naan bread. She can say that she feeds him this way because it's healthier all she wants, but that will never convince anyone. It's obvious that she simply doesn't care for her son.